Dah'es
by startraveller776
Summary: (REPOSTED) Sequel to Goh Veh and Sa'akh. In the Mirror Universe, T'Pol's life hangs in the balance. Will Trip rescue her? ON INDEFINITE HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:_ Paramount owns Star Trek and the characters therein. All other original material is the property of the owner, even though I don't make any money from this.  
_Rating_: PG-13/T for language, violence, and sensuality

**A/N: **This is a sequel to Goh Veh and Sa'akh. You must read both of those before embarking on this unfinished tale. This is based on the canon MU and takes place after the events of "In a Mirror, Darkly."

Special thanks to **honeybee** for beta services.

This has been reposted per reader request. I do not, at this time, have any idea when (or if) I'll get around to completing this story.

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**Chapter One**

* * *

_It would be in your best interest to escape the_ Defiant _once the attack begins_.

The words popped onto the screen once Trip had cracked the encryption. The message had come shortly before Phlox had started sabotaging the ship. Unfortunately, Trip hadn't had time to bother with it until after the dust had settled.

He stared at the screen, feeling the bottom drop from his stomach. T'Pol had tried to save him. That traitorous woman had tried to warn him of her plans. He snorted. Not that the message would have done him any good had those plans been successful. He wouldn't have read it in time, and he would have been just as dead as the rest of the crew.

But she had _tried._

And now T'Pol sat, tied up, in the brig awaiting the public execution that had been ordered by Empress Sato. The Vulcan's death was to be an example for the rebels. It was a death that, until he had read the message, Trip had been supportive of. She had betrayed him again…or so he had thought. He rubbed his hand over his face and groaned. He couldn't let her die now, could he? Why did that woman have to make everything so damned complicated?

"Son of a bitch!"

**=/\**_**  
**_

T'Pol could no longer feel her arms. They had been bound so tightly behind her for so many hours that the pain had finally abated into nothing. The reprieve gave her the ability to meditate, even in the cramped cell where she was chained to a chair. She had been deprived of food and water for several days. She had been beaten and humiliated by her guards. But none of it mattered—not when she knew her demise was imminent.

The one freedom left to her was her mind and she poured her energy into establishing _Venlinahr_, a discipline that had eluded her when she had allowed herself to get too emotional reading the _Defiant_'s database. At any moment, Sato would have her killed, and T'Pol would meet her death with the proper regal dignity of a Vulcan. T'Pol hoped that it would be broadcast across the empire. She hoped that she might be seen by the rebels as a martyr. It was the only way to give her failure any meaning.

The resonant hum of the brig's forcefield went silent and, without looking up, T'Pol knew who her guest was. Tucker had come to gloat over her, or to exact his revenge for her final betrayal. Either way, she was unconcerned. It would not make a difference. He could do whatever he wanted to her and she would remain calm.

She would feel nothing.

He lifted her chin, drawing her eyes to him, and was thoughtful as he studied her. "That's funny. I thought I'd want to strangle you myself as soon as I laid eyes on you." He brushed her hair away from her face. "I should break your neck right now, all things considered." Tucker chewed the inside of his cheek. "I don't want to, though. I _should_ want to, but I don't."

T'Pol returned his gaze, keeping her face placid. His words were meaningless to her.

He squinted. "You're dead already, aren't you?" Scrutinizing her, he said, "Yep. You've resigned yourself to your fate. I can't say that you don't deserve what the empress has in store for you. But it kinda bothers me that I'm not enthusiastic about it—especially considerin' how you've used and abused me." He frowned. "Is that because of the bond?"

She blinked at the reference, but made no reply. T'Pol would not be goaded by him. She would not give him _that_ satisfaction with the little time she had left to live.

His mouth tightened and he grabbed her jaw. "That was not a rhetorical question, Commander."

"What bond?" she responded in a cool voice.

Tucker smirked, dropping his hand. "Still going with that same ol' song and dance, I see. Maybe you're not as smart as you think you are." He leaned in and lowered his voice to a near whisper. "Got your message, by the way, hon. 'Course I didn't have time to decrypt it until _after _the _Avenger_ was destroyed, but it was a sweet thought anyway." He straightened and walked over to the small bunk, plopping down on it and leaning on his elbow. "I suppose you think your death is somehow going to rally the rebels."

T'Pol stared straight ahead, hiding how his statement had startled her. He had only made a logical assumption, she silently chided herself. He certainly had not read her thoughts through this imagined bond he kept mentioning.

"Huh. I guess you're only talkative when you're braggin' about what you've done to me—then I can't get you to shut up." His chuckle had an edge to it. "Is that what turns you on, baby?"

Her jaw involuntarily clenched. "What is it that you want, Commander Tucker?"

She could hear him stand and step behind her chair. A shiver dipped down her spine when she felt his warm breath against her ear. "What do I want? I want to take you, Commander. I want to _have_ you all to myself, several times."

T'Pol's breath caught at his provocative statement. She redoubled her focus to quell the unexpected burn that ignited in her middle.

Tucker walked around to face her again. "Betcha if I asked, the empress would let me have you," he said, licking his lips, "at least one last time before your execution." He caressed her cheek with his rough fingers. "That would probably make the bond stronger, though. Can't have that if I want to survive your death, now can I?" He sighed. "Too bad."

T'Pol looked up at him and saw a tumult of emotions dancing in his blue eyes. His final words seemed to carry more weight than his disappointment at not having another sexual encounter. Briefly, she wondered what their relationship would have been like had she accepted his kindness those years ago after her Pon'Farr. With a desperate swiftness, she struck the thoughts from her mind.

It would not have made a difference.

Tucker took her face in his hands and pressed his lips over hers in a deep kiss. She tried not to return it, but she had been overwhelmed by the passion, sadness, need and frustration that flowed through the contact. It cascaded into her, battered at her veneer of icy calm and all she could do was accept the onslaught. Regret swelled up within her and met his storm of emotions, flaming the kiss into something more hungry and despondent. They were nothing but two lost _katras_ in that moment, touching briefly before separating forever.

He pulled away, resting his head against hers. "Goddammit, woman. The things you do to me…" There was no anger in his voice. He kissed her forehead. "Good-bye, T'Pol."

Tucker walked out of the brig and T'Pol was certain that he had taken part of her _katra_ with him. She was grateful that Sato would kill her soon. T'Pol would prefer not to think too long about the possibility that Tucker had been right—that they were, indeed, bonded.

**=/\=**

He definitely could not let her die.

Trip had gone to see her, hoping that the memories of her treachery against him would be enough to want her dead. He wanted to hate her—and he did for all the ways she had taken advantage of him. But when he had walked into the brig and faced her, all he had felt was need. He needed _her_. And he was pretty sure that the crazy Vulcan bond was screwing with his head. Standing by while Empress Sato ended T'Pol's life would probably fix things for him. Sure, there might be some residual headaches, but he'd be himself again. It was a decent plan, except…

Except, Trip didn't really want to be free.

Not only would the indescribably awesome sex come to an end with T'Pol's death, so would their little game. He liked the dance they shared with one another, the daily mental tallies where he kept score from their banter. She made life interesting, if frustrating. Despite the way she had used him, Trip realized he wasn't all that inclined to work on the _Defiant_ without T'Pol.

Of course, he couldn't stay on the ship if he kept her, either.

_What a fine kettle of fish you're gettin' yourself into, Trip_, he thought ruefully. The days of merely keeping his head down and surviving this hellish existence were coming to an end. Now, he was going to have a real adventure—one that he had never wanted. Trip sighed. It would have been nice if all he wanted to do was kill her when he laid eyes on her. Then again, what had he expected? T'Pol had never made things easy for him.

**=/\=**

T'Pol was enjoying the serenity of her white space when a jolt of pain caused her eyes to flutter open. She noticed one of the guards roughly undoing her binds while the other stood in front of her, holding hand restraints and training a weapon on her.

"What is the meaning of this?" T'Pol inquired, keeping her voice steady in spite of the severe discomfort.

The guard before her, Michaels, spat. "Shut-up, traitor! The empress wants you to get cleaned up for the big show."

When she was free of the chains, T'Pol stood and held out her hands expectantly, ignoring the way her body protested in agony to the movement. Michaels stepped forward and cuffed her wrists. The weight of the restraint caused T'Pol's arms to drop, shooting another stab of pain through her. She kept her face impassive, resolving not to show anything but the calm her people were known for.

The other guard jabbed his weapon into her back, pushing her toward the exit. "Move, Vulcan."

T'Pol complied, feeling her legs shake with each step. They led her down the corridor and shoved her into the turbolift. For a heartbeat, she considered taking out both soldiers. Even in her weakened state she was reasonably certain that they could be dispatched easily. But to what end? T'Pol would serve her people best by dying for them, not in attempting to escape like a coward.

The turbolift door opened and she was mildly surprised to find that they had arrived on the deck where her crew quarters had been. She felt a small twinge of apprehension, wondering what she might be subjected to as she was "cleaned up" somewhere so clearly private. T'Pol stiffened as she smothered the useless emotions. It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered anymore.

_You're dead already, aren't you?_ Tucker's voice whispered in her mind. _Yes_, she answered back silently, _I am already gone_.

They rounded a bend, and she saw a Commander Tucker leaning against the door to her old cabin. A surge of hope expanded in her chest. She knew that there was no question of her rescue from her ultimate punishment, but if she was to be defiled, she would prefer it at the hands of the engineer. A tiny voice within reasoned that he even had a right to it.

"Hello, boys," Tucker greeted them as they arrived. "I'll take it from here."

"With all due respect, Commander," Michaels replied, "we have our orders."

The smile disappeared from Tucker's face. "So do I, Corporal." He held out a PADD to the soldier.

Michael's eyes widened as he read, then his mouth turned in a disgusted sneer. "If it's what the empress wants…" the guard said with disbelief as he handed the device back to Tucker.

"It's _my_ reward." The commander smirked. "Don't look so disappointed, Corporal. Make the empress happy and she'll give you something of your own."

Michaels snorted. "Fifteen minutes, Commander."

Tucker rolled his eyes. "Please. You were gonna take at least thirty between the two of you."

"Fine," the soldier said through clenched teeth, "thirty minutes, sir."

"Much better. Now if you'd just take care of that." The commander pointed to the restraints on T'Pol's wrists.

Michaels shook his head. "Sorry, sir."

"Do you need to read this again?" Tucker waved the PADD. "It says I get her any way I want her. And I don't want those gettin' in the way of my fun."

The soldier scowled and yanked T'Pol's arms up to remove the cuffs. She bit back a yelp as agony flashed white across her vision. Once she was unbound, Tucker pulled her against him, gripping her at the waist while he opened the door.

"See ya later, boys," he said as he ushered her into the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **_See first chapter_

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**Chapter Two**

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As soon as the door closed, Trip looked down at T'Pol. She was stiff, her expression steely. He knew what the guards had done to her—what they had planned to do to her. She had to be using every last ounce of strength to hang onto this veneer of calm. _Stubborn idiot._

"S'okay, darlin'," he said in a quiet voice. "You can let go, now." T'Pol glanced up in bewilderment. He gave her a half-smile. "Don't worry. I won't tell anybody if you need to pass out."

Her dark eyes widened in understanding. She slumped and began sliding to the floor.

"Whoa there, darlin'." He lifted her into his arms, surprised that she was much heavier than she looked. "Maybe we ought to get you showered before you lose consciousness."

T'Pol rested her head against his chest as he walked to the bathroom. She whispered something into his uniform that he couldn't hear.

"What was that, sweetheart?"

She took a shaky breath. "Why?"

"Huh? What do you mean?" he asked with a frown.

She lifted her head to meet his eyes. "Why do you show me kindness after what I've done to you?"

He gave her his trademark leer. "Who says I'm bein' kind? You don't know what I have in store for you." As she raised her brow, she looked so tiny and fragile in his arms. This wasn't the time for their game. Trip bit the inside of his mouth. "You want the truth?"

She nodded.

"Well, as soon as I figure that out, I'll let you know." He blew out a sigh. "Can you stand?"

"Yes."

He set her down and turned on the shower. "Let's get you out of these clothes."

T'Pol didn't resist him as he stripped her uniform from her as gently as possible. He didn't miss each faint grimace she made as he worked. Looking her over, he saw how badly she had been beaten. Her ribs were most likely broken. There were dark bruises all over her legs and torso, and her wrists were crusted deep emerald where the chain had rubbed her olive skin raw.

Trip should have felt vindicated seeing her like this. She had deserved it all and more for the crimes she had committed against him and against the crew. Instead, he was incensed. Was that because he hadn't been the one to mete out her punishment? Probably not. This was not the kind of payment he had wanted. Blackmailing her into his bed was more his style. His mouth tightened. Maybe his aversion to her physical pain was the bond's fault. But then, he didn't really give a damn anymore.

T'Pol gave him a questioning look when he unzipped his uniform. Trip snorted. "You don't think I'm gonna send you in there all by yourself when you're on the verge of fainting?"

He finished undressing and stepped into the shower, pulling her in with him. She closed her eyes and leaned against him as the hot water poured over them both. Moving as little as possible, Trip reached for the shampoo and lathered it in his hands. He ran his fingers through her long, soft hair, massaging her scalp. A quiet sigh escaped her lips as he worked the suds through her locks. He soaped up the rest of her body as tenderly as he could, trying to avoid making her wince.

T'Pol was completely malleable, letting him move her as he pleased. Once he might have liked having her so acquiescent. Hell, he'd even had some fantasies like this—minus the bruises and broken ribs. Now he found he missed the fire in her eyes and her cold comments, always laced with venom. He missed the fight she had in her. This T'Pol was just a shell. He hated this version of her more than he'd hated the woman who had mercilessly violated his mind.

After rinsing the soap and shampoo away, he turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around her shivering body. Trip tied another towel to his waist and picked her up again, carrying her to the main cabin.

"I got you a clean uniform," he said as he set her on the bed. She nodded but remained silent. Trip dressed her with the same care he had bathed her with. Once he was satisfied that she was presentable, he pulled off his own towel and grabbed his clothes.

"Commander?" Her voice was soft. He turned to face her. T'Pol canted a brow while she glanced at the one part of his body that had a mind of its own.

Trip shrugged, grinning. "I'm only human."

"Indeed." Amusement flashed in her eyes before they were empty again.

Trip grimaced at her blank expression and pulled on his uniform. He climbed into the bed behind her and, leaning against the bulkhead, enveloped her in his arms. "By my count, you've got twenty more minutes, darlin'," he whispered. "Sleep."

T'Pol craned her neck to study him, confusion hinting in her delicate features. Pulling his head down with her hands, she brought her soft lips to meet his. The need that was always with him spiked. Trip restrained himself from taking her invitation to own her body one last time. He didn't want her this way, half-dead and broken. He wanted to tame the wild _sehlat_ she used to be. Trip broke off the kiss before the powerful desire could override his better sense.

"No, I don't think so." He pressed her head against his shoulder. "Sleep."

T'Pol melted into him. "Thank you… Trip," she breathed just before the rise and fall of her chest became slow and measured.

He watched her rest peacefully as the wheels turned in his mind.

**=/\=**

_Sato hasn't killed you yet, dammit. So stop acting like she already has._

As she sat, chained to her chair once more, T'Pol attempted to make sense of Tucker's last words to her. He'd said them just before leaving her old quarters, after a final kiss that had quaked her body with hopeless longing. He had sounded frustrated, disappointed in her somehow and she didn't understand what it was that he had wanted from her. Her execution was a forgone conclusion. Did he expect her to rail futilely against her sentence? Humans were irrational—Tucker most of all.

Yet, he'd been kind to her again.

He'd had the opportunity to take advantage of her—to seek revenge for the many betrayals she had committed against him—and instead, he had been compassionate. T'Pol had believed such an emotion impossible in a human, especially in one that had been wronged like Tucker. Was it possible that not all humans were so self-serving? She thought of Forrest. The captain had given her more freedoms than others might have, but he would not have accepted her betrayal. He would not have been generous. There was something about Tucker that separated him from the others. What was it?

These musings were pointless. Even if she discovered why Tucker was unique, it would not serve her. She would never see him again. She would never have the opportunity to explore a relationship with him. She would never be able to make up to him all the crimes she had committed. And she would never know for certain whether they had formed a bond.

The forcefield winked out, and T'Pol looked up, hoping that Tucker might have decided to visit her one last time. She turned to ice when Colonel Mayweather stepped into the room, flanked by her guards.

So, it was time.

T'Pol straightened as much as she could, returning the colonel's gaze with defiance. _Yes, baby. That's what I'm talking about._ Tucker's voice whispered in her mind. She blinked as new understanding blossomed. He had wanted her to show them they could kill her body but not her _katra_. Within, a well of strength spilled over and spread through her weakened limbs. This was what she needed in order to be a true martyr for her people. This insight—this _power__—_Tucker's final gift to her would be the greatest of them all.

Mayweather squatted in front of her and took her chin in his gloved hand, moving her head back and forth as he examined her. He grunted, turning to Michaels. "You say Commander Tucker had her for a half hour?"

"Yes, sir."

The colonel turned back to her, smirking. "I would have thought he'd use her up better—especially seeing what she's done to him." He shook his head as he straightened. "Can she still walk?"

"She's a little wobbly, but yes she can, sir."

Mayweather tsked. "Definitely not the thorough job the empress was expecting when she granted Tucker's request." He nodded to the guards. "Unchain her."

The two men obeyed, and T'Pol was fairly certain that they were being rough on purpose. The dull, throbbing pain she had become accustomed to now spiked. She didn't flinch, though, instead keeping her eyes on Mayweather—making him understand that she would not be intimidated.

The colonel barked a laugh. "Feisty little thing, aren't you?" He winked. "I can see why Tucker liked playing with you."

T'Pol stood once the chains were removed, holding out her arms expectantly. Mayweather latched the cuffs across her wrists, and she lowered her hands slowly, displaying the reserve of strength she had left. _Yes. Keep it up, darlin'._ T'Pol found it oddly pleasing to hear Tucker's encouragement in her mind. She didn't bother to analyze where it was coming from. It was enough that it gave her the will to die on her own terms.

"Let's move." Mayweather led them out of the brig.

With her muscles infused with new energy, T'Pol's steps were steady. She held her chin up, staring straight ahead and ignoring the crewman who watched her pass, as if she were a royal dignitary on the way to meet the empress instead of a criminal walking to her execution. It was…exhilarating to deny the humans a bullied and disheartened rebel.

They reached the turbolift and her eyes widened when the door slid open, revealing Commander Tucker on the other side. Taking in the group, his mouth twitched into a brief frown before his expression turned blank.

"Already time?" he asked, giving Mayweather a small smile.

The colonel chuckled. "Not quite, Commander. The empress wants to draw out the prisoner's…_discomfort_ a little longer. She's going to be disappointed that you didn't do a better job, you know."

Tucker shrugged. "I'm too impatient to be skilled at torture. I usually kill 'em before I mean to. That'd probably disappoint the empress more, don't you think?" He looked at T'Pol and she gave him a challenging glare. His smile widened, and she was certain she saw approval in his eyes. "'Sides," he continued, turning back to Mayweather, "I got what I wanted from her."

The soldier grinned back. "I'll bet."

"I take it that Cutler and Reed got the booth workin'?" Tucker asked.

"Yep. We're on our way to test it out."

Tucker nodded. "Do me a favor, will ya? Make sure to crank that sucker up for me."

"Will do, Commander," Mayweather replied with a knowing smile. The colonel started to lead them to the lift when Tucker stepped in front of T'Pol. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back.

"Don't you forget what I said in the cabin, you traitor," he snapped. He leaned in and whispered, "Don't let 'em break you." Stepping back, he threw a glance at Mayweather. "Make her scream, boys." Tucker turned and started walking down the corridor.

The three soldiers shared a conspiratorial laugh as they stepped onto the lift with T'Pol. She saw Tucker look over his shoulder as the door began to close. His face was red with fury. What had made him upset, she didn't know, but she had a suspicion that she was not the cause this time.

* * *

**A/N:** This is, sadly, all I have at this time. Again, I have no idea when or if I'll ever get back to this story. I've put it up again at the request of a reader.

Thank you for reading!


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